Sonett-Forum

THE SUPPRESSED CONVENT.

The vine builds o'er the broken convent tower
God's architecture, hiding that of man ;
The soft blue brook runs on as first it ran,
Fed by the mountain rills, the forest shower ;
Gone is the Benedictine garb, and dower,
Marble, and pomp, and then amain began
Ruin, last phase of beauty ; but the plan
That reared these walls outlasts the levelling hour.
To the fair city over Arno's side,
That when its lily on Arcetri smiles,
Doth celebrate the festival of St. John *,
Might such still come as wont to fill these aisles,
The light from darkness in their thought divide,
And let the world, e'en as it will, go on.